


Strange Attractors

by the_deep_magic



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst and Humor, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Hand Jobs, References to Suicide, Secret Relationship, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:24:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s damned hard to knock Penelope Garcia off her game.  Reid manages it.  (Set early in the second season)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Attractors

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: 2.11 “Sex, Birth, Death” a.k.a. The One With Anton  
> Warnings: blood (in a nonsexual context), implied suicide attempt of a minor character
> 
> Despite the warnings, which only come into play at the very end, I would not consider this fic to be dark. In fact, much of it is in PWP territory.

****

The first time they kiss, it happens like this:

Garcia (tipsy) and Reid (not) sharing a cab on the way home from a post-case bar crawl.  She tries to wave goodbye, but gets an earful about how social protocol dictates that he see her to her apartment door.  It’s a little chauvinist, maybe, but Garcia’s willing to bet that Reid is on orders from Morgan, and she’s just drunk enough to find his awkward attempt at chivalry adorable anyway.

She takes his elbow before he can offer it and steers him past the broken elevator and up the stairs.  It’s only three flights, but they’re both panting a little when they get to the top, and by the time they’re at Garcia’s door, she’s broken down into a case of the giggles.

“What?” he says, looking alarmed, and that just sets her off again.   

It’s terrible of her; she knows he’s worried he did something wrong in this particular task, left something out that “normal people” are supposed to do, but can’t figure out what.  Still, she can’t stop giggling, and the residual alcohol in her system isn’t helping.  She reaches out to smooth a hand down the front of Reid’s ugly cardigan in an attempt to ground herself and soothe him.  He stiffens just a little at the touch, but all she notices is how soft the material is.

“Nothing, sweetie,” she tries to reassure him.  “I’m just a little…”  She gestures apologetically.   “You did good.”

And he did.  Not just getting Garcia home, but pulling one of his Boy Wonder moments with an obscure fact about a rare fungus that grows in isolated areas of rural North Carolina that saved a seven-year-old girl.  Sometimes, in the odd break between being asked to ferret out the impossible and cross-reference it with the improbable, Garcia looks at her ten computer monitors, each running several different programs, and wonders what it would be like to have all that in her head.  Wonders if that’s anything like how Reid’s mind works.  Wonders if there _is_ any analogue to how his mind works.

So before she can think it through, she tips up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.  Only he doesn’t quite get what she’s doing and turns his head, just slightly, so her lips end up at the corner of his mouth.  And maybe he’s trying to say something or maybe he really is sort of kissing back, but his lips move gently against hers and she shivers a little at the unexpected sensation.

Then, just like that, he’s moving away, face blank.  He’s always been hard to read, but at least he doesn’t look frightened or offended, just mutters, “Should go.  Cab’s waiting.”

There’s a smear of dark pink lipstick at the corner of his mouth, and any heaviness of the moment lifts as Garcia has to clamp down on the giggles again.  She manages to tame it down to a crooked smile.  “’Course it is,” she says.  Then gestures at her own lip.  “Hey, you’ve got a little…”

He wipes his fingers across his mouth and looks at the pigment on them, eyes widening a little.  But he’s not walking back down the hallway yet.

Afraid she really is going to burst into tipsy laughter again and actually offend him ( _boy’s been laughed at enough in his life_ ), she just says, “Good night, Spencer.  I’ll text Derek, tell him you did your chivalrous duty.”

“I… thanks,” Reid says.  “Good night, uh, Penelope.”

&&&

The second time, it happens like this:

It’s the rare week without a BAU case, Hotch is with his family and Gideon’s away doing whatever it is that he does, and they’ve loaned Garcia out to white collar.  Which might be acceptable if they _asked her permission_ first, but they did not.  So now she’s cross-referencing bank records looking for fishy transactions. 

It takes her about a minute and a half to pull the necessary account records and trace them back to a phony electronics company based out of San Francisco, and then another five minutes to decide whether to shoot that information back to the section chief immediately.  If they catch wind of her lightning-fast genius, they might become suspicious of some of her more questionable methods, or even worse, request her services again.  In the end, though, pride wins out and she sends them the data they need. 

After that, she alternates between fidgeting with an uncooperative hairpin, playing free cell, and taking stabs at a CIA database she’s still been unable to crack ( _a girl’s got to have her hobbies_ ) until white collar sends her yet another request without even the grace to thank her for filling the last one.  She estimates it will take her about 45 seconds.  Then she’ll wait 15 minutes to send it.

She hears a knock on the door behind her and out of habit says, “Penelope Garcia’s Cave of Unfettered Genius.  Speak friend and enter.”

She doesn’t even consider it might be someone unfamiliar with her particular brand of humor until it’s already out of her mouth.  She spins around in her chair, ready to come up with an explanation, when she hears “ _Mellon_ ” in a familiar voice.

“Reid!” she says, relieved.  “You’re a Lord of the Rings geek, too?  What am I saying, of course you’re a Lord of the Rings geek.  Awesome.”

He doesn’t look up from his shoes, but a small smile starts to curl the corner of his mouth.  “I taught myself Elvish when I was 13.  Well, Quenya, anyway.  Did you know that Tolkien primarily based it phonologically and syntactically on Finnish?”

“Eh, I never got that far, but I did dress as Galadriel the year I went to Comic Con.”

“Tolkien actually developed the languages first, then created the mythology around them that eventually became Arda and then Middle-Earth.”  He seems to stop himself deliberately – probably a reflex from being told some variation of _Nobody cares, Reid_ – and the smile fades from his face.  But he seems alarmed by the silence and fills it with, “So, uh, what do they have you working on?”

“White collar stuff.  They might as well have handed me a coloring book.  That would be more of a challenge.”

“Oh.”

“Let me guess – they’ve got you doing paperwork.”

“Yep.  Did you know that we have to account for every single bullet fired?”

“Ouch.  You win in the sucky-filler-job department.  At least I have solitaire.”

“I actually don’t mind it that much.  The repetition is kind of soothing.  For a while, anyway.”

The room falls silent again – a rarity with Reid around – and Garcia squints at him.  “Hey, I know reading people’s behavior is your field, but even I can tell you came in here for a reason, and it wasn’t chit-chat.  So out with it.”

“Why, um,” Reid glances at the computer monitors, avoiding her eyes, and scratches perfunctorily at his nose.  “Why did you kiss me?  The other night.”

Oh, right.  That.  It’s true that Garcia doesn’t spend a lot of time talking with Reid, even during work hours, doesn’t know him as well as she knows most of the team.  And it’s true that she’s no expert in human behavior.  But she does sense that she needs to answer this question very carefully.  Boy Geniuses never come without emotional baggage, and she’s got the sense that his is pretty hefty.  “You were being so sweet, walking me to my door.  And, in case you hadn’t noticed, you’re completely gorgeous, and my inhibitions were a little… inhibited at the time.”

“Oh, okay,” Reid says, nodding, but Garcia can tell he’s just as confused as when he walked in the door.  “I just didn’t know if it…  If you…”

“Sweetcheeks, I kissed you because I wanted to.”

“Oh.”

Something occurs to Garcia in that moment, and she has to act fast to control her expression.  “That… that wasn’t your first kiss, was it?”

“No!” Reid says quickly, then more calmly: “No, um, not my first.  But… there haven’t been many.”  He rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly.

And she’s willing to bet he’s analyzed each one right down to the core.  No matter how much else there is in his head, it can’t be easy being 25 years old and having so little experience outside of school and serial killers.  Just _how_ little experience, Garcia doesn’t know, and she doesn’t want to go poking around for the answer right at the moment.

Acting on impulse, she stands and makes her way over to Reid, takes each of his broad hands in her smaller ones.  He stares down at them, like he can’t quite believe that someone’s touching him, and it breaks Garcia’s heart a little.  _That’s what hands were made for, baby boy._   “So I wasn’t quite on the top of my game the other night.  You want to try again?”

He shoots her a suspicious look.  “You want to kiss me again?”

“You bet, hot stuff,” she says with a grin.  Not exactly a hardship; he’s certainly cute, and he’s got a nice mouth.  A very nice mouth.

“O-okay.”

She puts her hands gently on his shoulders and rises up to kiss him again, purposefully this time.  She doesn’t intend to linger longer than a few seconds, but then he shifts against her and his lips are moving and _oh_ , he’s kissing back.  _Really_ kissing back.  It’s good; his lips are soft and dry, and his hands come up, hesitating a little before resting at her waist.  She can’t help it – on instinct she leans into him a little, into the warmth of his body, and _then_.

_Then_ his head tilts just so and his tongue slips lightly against the seam of her mouth and she’s so shocked by the sensation that her lips part.  Just a little, just enough for him to slide the very tip of his tongue inside.  She gasps and he moves in closer, and at some point one of his hands rose to cup the back of her neck, because he’s holding her properly now and sliding his tongue against hers with uncharacteristic boldness.  It’s enough to make her dizzy, make her _want_ , and when they finally have to pull back for air, both gasping a little, she looks just as stunned as he does.

“Oh” is all she says.

&&&

It’s damned hard to knock Garcia off her game.  She may not have the titanium shell like the others do to deal with the awful things they all see every day, but she knows how to leave things at the office.  There will always be another case, another set of horrifying crime scene photos to analyze and another killer to track down, and in some backwards way, that makes it a little easier to shake it off at the end of the day.

Tonight, though, she nearly runs into a telephone pole on the way home.

It’s not like she didn’t know Reid ( _Spencer?  Dr. Reid?  Hot Lips?_ ) was appealing in his own way, but that way usually came with adjectives like _sweet_ and _adorable_.  Not… whatever that kiss was.  And it totally _was_.  Even if he sort of bolted from the room after a few seconds of panicked eye contact avoidance.

She doesn’t doubt that he’s telling the truth about his lack of experience, because it wouldn’t really occur to Reid to lie about something like that.  But apparently that photographic memory of his extends beyond the visual, because he had to have learned that _somewhere_ , and the possibilities… are what nearly run her into that telephone pole on a particularly sharp curve.

_He’d only need to learn it once._

No, but that would be… corrupting?  Or would it?  He’s not a child.  Just because everyone sort of treats him as their kid brother, the one that’s always getting his schoolwork posted on the refrigerator, doesn’t mean he doesn’t have… other dimensions.

Lost in thought, she starts to drift into the adjacent lane and the ensuing honk from the neighboring driver nearly makes her jump out of seat.  “Snap out of it, Penelope,” she growls at herself in the rearview mirror, and quickly stuffs Scissor Sisters into the CD player.  Hard to think about anything else while belting out “Tits on the Radio.”

She does make it safely home, kicking off her canary yellow flats by the door and finally yanking out that renegade hairpin that’s been digging into her skull.  The rest of the hairpins come out, too, and she groans as she massages her scalp.  Her pink highlights are starting to fade; she either needs to get them redone or switch to another color entirely.  How long has it been since she went blue?

A trip to the kitchen reveals that she’s run out of food again.  Well, that’s not entirely true – she’s run out of food that constitutes a meal, unless pretzel crackers, pomegranate jerky, and dill pickles can somehow be combined into something edible.  Cereal for dinner it is, then.

She’s just shaking out the last of the Cocoa Pebbles into the bowl when she hears the knock at the door.  She’s not expecting anyone, and to say her job has made her a bit paranoid is somewhat of an understatement.  But the three deadbolts are locked and she knows how to use the Louisville Slugger she keeps by the door, so she goes to the peephole.

“No frakkin’ way,” she mutters to herself.

It’s Reid, glancing nervously around the hallway, looking as painfully earnest as ever.  Maybe more so.

Garcia fumbles with the locks in her haste, though she schools her face into her usual flirty smirk as she pulls the door open.  “Well, I can’t say I’m used to getting gentleman callers at this time of night.  To what do I owe the pleasure?”

When Reid smiles, he looks dazed – and he looks right at her mouth.  “I got on the Metro to go home, but for some reason I didn’t get on my line and I knew there was a stop not far from your place and I don’t…”  He stops to breathe.  “I’m sorry, but I don’t quite know what I’m doing here.”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Garcia says.  “Just let me know if I’m wrong.”  Then she reaches forward, grabs him by his ridiculous skinny tie, and yanks him bodily into her apartment.

As she locks the door behind him, she has a split second to worry if maybe she’s frightened him, but when she turns back around, he doesn’t hesitate – just takes her face in his hands and starts kissing her again.  It’s so intense, right from the start, that it knocks her off balance and back against the door.

She doesn’t hit it hard, but it seems to jostle him out of his daze and he pulls back and very nearly starts to tremble.  “Garcia, I’m so sorry, I’m—”

“Shhh.”  She cuts him off with two fingers pressed against his lips.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.”  Then she easily maneuvers around until he’s the one with his back to the wall, the better for her to lean into him.  “In fact, you’re doing everything very, very right.”

She initiates it this time, teasing at his lips with her own, backing off a little when he tries to press for more.  But she’s got her hands flat on his chest, pinning him to the wall hard enough to let him know she wants him right where he is.  His arms encircle her waist again, tentative at first but tighter when she nips lightly at his lower lip.  That’s also when she feels a distinct twitch where his crotch is pressed into her lower belly.

She ignores it for as long as she can, not wanting to draw attention to it in case this is moving too fast for him, but his hips remain absolutely still – not pressing harder against her, but not moving away, either.  His tongue is twisting eagerly against hers by now, but there’s a growing tension in his body that hints to Garcia that she’s got to be the one to make the first move.

Testing the waters, she slides one hand down to unbutton his cardigan, then pull his shirt from his trousers.  He doesn’t move to stop her – or help her – just keeps kissing her, but the pace slackens considerably as she lets her hand wander up under his shirt to touch bare skin.  Her toes curl against the floor at the heat of him, at the _possibilities_.

His abs tighten immediately at her touch, then slowly relax as she lets her hand just rest against his warm skin.  He’s thin, so thin, but he’s got a little muscle to him – more wiry than scrawny – and she strokes her thumb over the soft line of hair that descends from his navel.  He quivers a little at that, mouth stilling for a moment before running his tongue over her lower lip with renewed fervor.

Emboldened, she slides a hand down his body to grasp the length of him, now unmistakably hard, through his pants, and he gasps.  His lips falter as she begins to rub up and down, and he breathes out the most beautiful, strangled sound right against her mouth.

“Reid, sweetheart,” she whispers, “have you ever done this before?”

“N-no.  Not with someone else.”

She’s too close to see his face properly, but she knows his cheeks are heating up.  “If you want me to stop—”

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, jerking back to look her in the eye.  Sure enough, his face is flushed with a combination of embarrassment and arousal, but his eyes are begging her.  “Please, please don’t stop.”

She smiles, rubs her nose against his playfully and brings her other hand down, carefully opening his belt and trousers and lifting his cock out of his briefs.  He’s so hard already, and one stroke from root to tip reveals the wetness starting to pool at the head.  _Oh, baby_ , she thinks, _I’m about to rock your world_.

It would be better with lotion or lube, something to ease the slide of her hand, but he’s already so close he’s starting to shake.  She licks her palm and fists him firmly, a little twist on the upstroke, and his head tips back with a _thunk_ against the wall.  A thumb rubbed just below the head of his cock earns her a whimper, and he’s not going to last much longer, so she works him hard and fast, giving him room to thrust his hips into her hand.

When he comes, his eyes snap open and his whole body jerks against hers, but she’s ready for it and holds him steady against the wall, strokes him through a long, wrenching orgasm that makes a mess on both of them.  Well, her dress probably needed to be dry-cleaned anyway.  She’s more concerned with making sure he doesn’t collapse, but he stays on his feet, gasping for breath and shuddering as she gives him one last gentle squeeze.

He doesn’t move for a long time, his eyes open but glazed over and pointed at the ceiling.  “Hey, Doc,” she whispers after a minute, pressing a soft kiss to his chin.  “What are you thinking?”

“I’m… _not_ ,” he says, with something like awe in his voice.  The look he turns on her is one of full-on adoration, and she very nearly blushes.  And one does not easily make Penelope Garcia blush.

“Have we found a cure for the Spencer Reid Chronic Overthinking Syndrome?”

“Well,” he says, a smile starting to curl the corner of his mouth, “with any medical treatment, multiple trials are necessary to confirm effectiveness.”

Garcia makes a sound that’s something between a gasp and a shriek.  “Was that…  Did you just make a _joke_?  And flirt with me at the same time?”

The smile starts to spread.  “I’m trying to branch out.”

She’s practically bouncing on her toes now.  “You gorgeous” – she kisses his cheek – “dirty” – his nose – “little thing.”  His lips, lingering a little.  “What are we going to do with you?”

“Umm…”  Now he flushes so red that Garcia briefly worries he’s burst something.  “Clean me up, maybe?”

She giggles and grabs him by the hand, steering him toward the bathroom.  “It’s only messy if you do it right.”

It’s beyond adorable, watching him stumble and try to hold up his pants with one hand, especially since his important bits are still hanging out.  Once in the bathroom, he stands very still and lets her clean them both, then tuck him gently back into his underwear.  His shirt, however, is in need of more than a damp washcloth, as is her dress.

So she takes it off.

The look on Reid’s face is priceless.  Garcia knows she’s not playing fair, but fuck it.  If he hasn’t already, it’s about time Reid saw a gorgeous woman naked, in the flesh, and she’s perfectly willing to take that particular bullet.  She laughs gently, stepping towards him.  “It’s okay, sweetheart.  You can touch if you want.”

“I, um.”  He swallows loudly.  “I don’t know where to start?”

She takes his hands and sets them on safe territory – her cheeks, which he had no problem touching when they were kissing.  “Take it from here.”  He still looks vaguely mortified, so she turns to kiss his palm.  “This isn’t a test.  There aren’t any wrong answers, I promise.”

He starts gently, so gently, as if he’s going to hurt her somehow.  The tips of his fingers glide down the line of her neck, pausing briefly at her shoulder before they trace her collarbone.  She considers taking her bra off, but thinks that might send him into overload just now, so she lets him take his time.  And he does, feeling the texture of her skin with his palms, then the backs of his knuckles, almost like he’s studying her.

No, _exactly_ like he’s studying her, and having that laser focus turned directly on her is making it difficult to keep from prompting him to speed things up.  By the time he cups her breasts in his hands, her nipples are poking visibly at the fabric of her bra, and he rubs his thumbs over them experimentally.  She’s never had the most sensitive nipples, but as the only point of contact between them, the sensation makes her shiver.

So it’s time for the bra to go.  The thought of him fumbling with the clasp is almost too cute to imagine, but it might also be a little cruel right now, so Garcia reaches back and unhooks it herself.  Reid slides the garment down her arms and off with less hesitation than she expected.  “Beautiful,” he whispers, putting his hands on her again.  And, yeah, it’s not exactly a revelation coming from a guy looking at boobs (particularly _her_ boobs, which are well known to be spectacular), but it’s _Reid_ and he’s looking her in the eyes now with such adulation that she almost tears up a little.

“Kinda feels like we should take this to the bedroom,” she says softly, leaving little room for misunderstanding but not wanting to pressure him, either.

“That… yes, that,” he says with an earnest nod, and she chuckles again, launches up to kiss his mouth teasingly.

If he’s judging her for the somewhat less-than-orderly state of her room, he keeps it to himself, which is good, because otherwise she might have to spank him.  ( _Ooh, spanking Reid.  Have to save that thought for another time_.)   Suddenly there’s not nearly enough skin-to-skin contact, so she makes quick work of his tie and button-down shirt.  In an attempt to forestall any protests, she hangs it neatly over the back of a chair.  He surprises her by shedding his pants, too, draping them over the shirt.  Their underwear goes, then she’s back in his arms, nothing between them this time, and it’s all she can do not to jump up and wrap her legs around his waist.

When she’s able to tear herself away for a moment, she winks coyly at him and goes to lie down on the bed.  “C’mere, gorgeous,” she says, patting the spot beside her.

He stretches out next to her, so close but not quite touching, and just looks at her dazedly.

She reaches up to stroke his hair, suddenly amazed that she hasn’t done so before.  He’s had it cut recently and she preferred it longer, but it’s still wonderfully soft between her fingers.  “Okay?” she asks.

“Uh, nervous,” he says, his eyes fixed on her lips again.  “Very, very nervous.”

Telling him not to be nervous isn’t going to do any good, and he’s certainly allowed.  She takes a moment to think of what she can say that will soothe him, but all she can come up with is, “It’s just me.  You don’t have to impress me.  But I have a feeling you’re going to, anyway.”

“I just want…”

“What, sugar?”

“Can I look at you?”

He’s already looking at her, eyes wide and pupils gone dark, but Garcia’s got a pretty good idea of what he means, so she says, “Of course,” and presses another chaste kiss to his lips before settling on her back.

He takes his time, fingers drifting down her body as his eyes do, and it’s been a long time since she’s been, well, scrutinized like this.  Possibly never.  There was a time in her life – a long time – when she would have been deeply uncomfortable even keeping the lights on.  But Reid never loses that innocent look of awe on his face, even as his hands pass over her curves, the softness of her belly, the ample flesh of her thighs.  She doesn’t need anyone to tell her she’s beautiful, but the way Reid is looking at her makes her _feel_ it.

He licks his lips, probably unconsciously, as his gaze reaches her sex, and he’s too focused to see her grin.  She lifts one leg and hooks it around him, pulling him until he’s between her thighs.  Surprisingly, he doesn’t even blush, looking at her spread open in front of him, just tilts his head ever so slightly, and she can practically see the wheels turning, comparing the diagrams he’s seen – hell, maybe even the porn he’s watched (though Garcia does have some difficulty imagining _that_ ) – with the real thing.

“Can I…”

“Absolutely.”  This time she has no idea what he’s asking for, but whatever it is, she wants it from him.

He bends in closer, awe transitioning into fierce concentration.  She expects his touch, _wants_ his touch, but instead he closes his eyes and breathes in deeply.  Oh god, he’s _smelling_ her, and she never thought that would be so blisteringly hot.  She recalls one of his little tangents about smell being the sense linked most strongly to emotion and memory, something about the limbic system and possibly the hippocampus, and shivers at the thought of him encoding her somewhere deep in his brain.  _He’ll never forget…_

But she doesn’t have to wait long for that touch.  It’s heartbreakingly tender, of course, a thumb stroking her inner lips, and she quivers at the sensation.  It makes him gasp quietly, and he repeats the motion, a little firmer this time.

She has to rest her head back on the pillow and shut her eyes, because watching the look on his face is too much, feels almost more intimate than his touch.  And he keeps touching her, learning her folds with the tips of his fingers, which are no doubt getting wetter and wetter as she does.  When he reaches her clit, she can feel the switch from exploration to stimulation as he rubs his thumb gently over her.

Too gently.

She props up a little on one elbow and reaches down to hold his fingers in hers.  “A little harder.  In a circle, like this.”  She shows him and he picks it up right away, nodding solemnly.  _Oh fuck, that’s good_.  She’s not even sure if she said the words out loud.  He’s obviously getting more confident, because he tries different speeds, different pressures until her hips are lifting up off the bed.

“Stop…” she gasps, and has to try again to get the words out.  “Stop for a second and put your fingers in me.”

This she _has_ to watch, and the absence of stimulation on her clit allows her focus on the sight and the feeling of two long, agile fingers sliding into her.  She clenches around him, relishing the broken little moan he doesn’t even know he makes.

She doesn’t even have to tell him to crook his fingers, because the boy’s obviously done his research.  When he finds the right spot, her whole body jerks so hard he looks a little alarmed.  “A-plus,” she says breathlessly, and god, he suddenly looks so _happy_ , so excited to please her.  “Well, go on, Dr. Reid.  Finish your homework and you get a gold star.”

He quirks an eyebrow at that and she giggles, a sound which turns into a gasp when he begins fucking his fingers in and out of her slowly, dragging them against her sweet spot with varying amounts of pressure.  “ _Just_ like that,” she moans, head dropping back to the pillow and eyes closing.

Which is why she doesn’t see him dip his head to bring his mouth down on her.

The first lick over her clit makes her yelp.  She looks up to see him raising his head, startled, and she promptly reaches out to push his head back down where it ought to be.  She feels what might be a smile against her most sensitive flesh just before he starts licking again, this time running his tongue around his thrusting fingers.

If it were anyone but Reid, she’d think he was teasing her, but he’s genuinely exploring, gauging her reactions to every press and flick of his tongue.  Between that and his fingers pressing into her, she’s getting unbearably close, pleasure coiling tight in her belly, but he seems to be everywhere except where she needs him most.  “Reid, _please_ ,” she begs.  “Time to earn that gold star.”

His mouth latches over her, his tongue swirling tight over her clit with the same tempo and pressure she showed him earlier with her fingers, and she’s absolutely _gone_.  The first wave hits her hard, pleasure seizing her muscles, followed by more than a few long, blissful shudders courtesy of Reid’s stroking fingers.  And he follows through with it, too, prolonging everything until she has to gasp “Too much!” and physically pull him away.

The apology’s only halfway out of his mouth when she drags him up by his hair and kisses him hard, tasting herself in his mouth.  She breaks away, breathless, and he looks utterly stunned when he actually has every right to be smug as hell, after that.  They both seem to realize at the same time that his fingers are still in her, and she only whines a little with loss as he draws them out.  But then he looks at them, glistening wet, and without hesitation puts them in his mouth to suck them clean.

“Oh fuck,” she whimpers.

Before he can move, she’s leaning over to dig frantically through the top drawer on her nightstand, knowing she has one somewhere.  She doesn’t need them as much as she’d like – hard to meet guys with a job like hers – but she knows she’s got some around, just in case…  _Aha!_   She rolls back to the bed, victorious, holding up the condom with pride.  “Consider this your gold star, sir.”

Reid looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or flee in terror, and it would seem Garcia is going to have to muster her senses (which is not the easiest thing in the world, not after _that_ orgasm) and take charge here for a minute.  He’s mostly hard, and she wonders if he’s been like that the whole time he was working her over, because _fuck_ is that hot.

He’s sitting back on his knees, watching her with something like wonder as she gives him a few good strokes, then carefully starts to roll the condom on.  He makes a soft, desperate little noise, and she makes sure to use a light hand.

His mouth is moving like he wants to say something, but for once in his life can’t figure out what.  She takes his face in her hands, just like he’d done earlier, and kisses him gently.  “You’re ready,” she whispers against his lips, stroking his hair comfortingly.  He nods, serious once more, and Garcia can’t _wait_ to see how long it takes to knock that expression clean off his face.  She’s willing to bet he makes great sex faces.

Lowering herself back down to the bed, she pulls him on top of her until he’s resting his weight on his hands.  He bites his lip.  “I’m afraid I’m not… I don’t know the exact statistics, but anecdotal evidence overwhelmingly indicates that a male’s first experience with intercourse usually doesn’t last—”

She cuts him off with a _shhh_ and two fingers pressed against his lips.  It’s silly and sweet and so _him_ that she has to smile.  “Don’t worry about that, sweetie.  You’ve already aced the test, remember?” 

“Thought you said it wasn’t a test.”

“Stupid eidetic…” she starts to mutter, then sees the faint curl of his lips and realizes he’s teasing her again.  It makes something in her chest squeeze tightly, and she’s half-talking to herself when she chides, “Alright, genius, no more talking.”

Reaching down with one hand, she guides his cock into place and pushes down a little against him.  He looks a little surprised, like he expected there to be a bit more ceremony to go along with the whole thing.  But she can seen the exact second instinct takes over, and it’s truly a pleasure to watch his eyes flutter shut and his mouth drop open as he first thrusts into her.  _God_ , but he’s a good fit, the width of him stretching her perfectly.

His fists clench hard in the bed sheets on either side of her and he’s panting through his teeth, trying desperately to stave off the inevitable.  It’s deliciously flattering, and she rubs his sides just to feel the heat of his skin.  “Take your time,” she whispers, watching pleasure war with control across his beautifully expressive face.

After a long moment, he bends down on shaky arms to kiss her, nearly missing her mouth he’s so distracted.  There’s sweat breaking out on his forehead and hair hanging down into his eyes, and he’s never looked so out of his mind or so sinfully beautiful.  It’s like he’s waiting for something, some kind of sign from her, so she grins wickedly, lifts a leg to twine around his hip, and squeezes him tightly where he’s buried inside of her.

 A wild sound tears its way out of his throat and his hips start into motion, she can tell, before his brain can even start to process it.  His thrusts are erratic at first, deep and rough, and if she hadn’t already come so hard tonight, they’d probably be damned uncomfortable.  But she shifts against him and he settles into a more even rhythm, moaning steadily as he pistons into her over and over.

He’s already shaking, and quite frankly she’s a little surprised he’s lasted this long, but she _has_ to see his face when he loses it.  Pushing back his hair, she tilts his head until they’re eye to eye and whispers, “Let go.  Just let go.”

It’s glorious – his whole body goes rigid and she tightens her leg around him to keep him close.  The sound he makes is surprisingly soft and he presses his face against her hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality.  Eyes closed and gasping, he thrusts weakly into her a few more times before his elbows buckle and he collapses.

Luckily, it doesn’t quite knock the breath out of her – she still has enough to chuckle and help him push his weight enough to the side where she can breathe, though they’re still connected.  He moans into her shoulder, and she can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or blissed out or – probably – both.

She holds his sweaty, trembling body close and strokes his hair.  It’s been a long time since she’s been anybody’s first, and to be Reid’s, well… that’s practically an honor unto itself.  But there are practicalities to think of, and she lets him just enjoy the afterglow as she holds the condom tight at the base of his softening cock when he pulls out.  It’s truly a chore to drag herself away from him to take it to the trash.

By the time she gets back to bed, Reid’s managed to pull himself up on one elbow and is looking at her with the same awe as before.  He has to swallow a few times before he manages, “Can I stay tonight?”

Garcia grins as she hops back into bed and pulls the sheet and blanket over them.  “As if I’d let you go anywhere else.”

&&&

It’s not a one-time thing.   Garcia didn’t really think it would be, but they never really discuss it.  Sometimes Reid shows up at her door, sometimes he doesn’t.  Sometimes she calls him, but she rarely needs to, because he’s got an uncanny knack for knowing when she wants him.  Of course, most everything about him could be classified as uncanny. 

It starts with her teaching him what she knows, what she likes, what she thinks he might like, but he picks it up so fast that his confidence grows until they’re riffing off each other like Garcia does with Morgan, but with touch instead of words.  As time goes on, Reid loosens up considerably, that familiar glint in his eye, the one he gets when he’s the only one in the room who knows the answer, now directed at _her_. 

Surprisingly, outside of her apartment, not much changes.  Not during work hours, anyway.  It helps that she has limited contact with Reid anyway, and he _does_ have a master poker face when he wants to.  She’s learned a little something about compartmentalizing, too, and one case after another goes by where she resists the urge to lure him down into her lair on non-serial-murder business.

Not everything stays the same, though.  On the next case that requires a great deal of her long-distance wizardry, maybe she flirts with Morgan a little harder, is a little more explicit than usual, even when she knows he’s on speakerphone.  Two nights later, Reid shows up at her apartment without saying a word, takes her to the bedroom, and makes her come three times with his fingers and mouth before he’ll roll on a condom and slide into her, even when she begs.  It’s not exactly incentive for her to tone things down with Derek, but she _is_ a little more careful after that – Garcia’s not sure even she could survive that every week.

She has a hard enough time keeping up with Reid as it is, and for her, that’s saying something.  She wonders if there’s anything he _won’t_ try.  She hasn’t, for example, pegged him yet, but she’s asked him about it.  He had to ask what it was first, and when she explained, he turned the brightest shade of red she’s ever seen, thought about it in dead silence for about a minute and a half, then very solemnly agreed, as long as she gave him some warning first.  As though she’d just whip out a strap-on while his eyes were closed.   He was so adorably serious about it that that particular night ended with her rolling him over, kissing him senseless, and riding him until they were both exhausted.

That’s not to say he’s great at _everything_.  They’re still working on the dirty talk – it’s not Reid’s fault he thinks in clinical terms, but there’s only so long Garcia can keep a straight face at the word _vulva_.  But she’s teaching him, whispering all the things she likes to hear as she works him over, slowly, with her hands.  His recall is a little less reliable when she’s jerking him – or blowing him, or riding him – but she has faith in his multitasking abilities, and he can say the word “cock” without blushing now, so that’s progress.

The roleplaying’s just never going to work, though.  He gets so obsessed with the minutiae and inventing plausible explanations for why, exactly, a fireman would be naked in Garcia’s bedroom in the middle of the night that she usually ends up breaking into fits of laughter, shoving him down on the bed, and straddling his face to put his mouth to better use.

On the other hand, he’s almost intimidatingly creative.  It’s not whips and chains and candlewax, either – it’s things like asking her to masturbate for him while he watches and keeps his fingers still inside her, just so he can feel the way she clenches around him when she comes.  Or getting her so worked up with his mouth that all he has to do is blow a steady stream of air on her clit to make her climax.  Or stripping naked to fuck her while she’s still wearing everything but panties, like he’s her own personal harem boy.  Or the reverse, so she can feel the raw friction of his ridiculous sweater vests against her nipples as his open zipper bites into her thigh with every thrust.

And, yes, on one particularly memorable evening she does turn him over her knee and spank him.  It ends in laughter and tickling and a truly exceptional blow job (mostly to make up for the tickling), if she does say so herself.  There are moments like that, unguarded moments of joy that neither of them expect.  It takes her a little while to wrap her head around that one – Spencer Reid: playful in the sack.  Though he never quite loses the academic earnestness entirely, even while bare-ass naked.

And, bless him, he’s even learning to cuddle.  It doesn’t come naturally to him, since he’s probably rarely been held in his life, and that’s a damn shame that Garcia has taken upon herself to rectify.  One night early on, after they’re spent, he lies stiffly against her, and she scoots back to look him in the eye.  “Too close?”

When he shakes his head, he seems sincere.  “No, not if you like it.  I’m just… not used to it.”

“If it’s too much, sweetie, just tell me.  Not everyone’s a cuddler.”

“No, I…”  He looks away, and she can tell he’s having to force himself to look her in the eye again.  “Touch is one of the first functional modalities to develop in human infants and it remains crucial to social and psychological development and…”  His voice drops so she can barely hear him.  “I kind of like it, too.”

“Okay, we’ll start with the basics, then.  You’ll be the little spoon.”  The bewildered look on his face is priceless, and she giggles and kisses him sweetly.  By now, he knows her laughter isn’t anything but pure delight.  And any time she can coax it out of _him_ , well, that might be even better than making him come.  Maybe.

Though that’s done for this particular evening.  “Turn over and relax,” she says.  “And try to pretend like you’re not about to have a colonoscopy.”

“Actually, colonoscopy patients are usually given a combination of sedatives, so—”

That earns him a hand clamped over his mouth and a kiss to the tip of his nose.  He just nods and turns over, and she can practically hear him commanding himself to _relax, just_ relax, _damn it_.

Fondly, she kisses the spot between his bare shoulders and rubs a gentle hand down his side.  She rests her cheek against the back of his neck and drapes an arm across his stomach.  “Perfect.  You’re doing perfect.”

“Perfectly,” he says softly, correcting her grammar, but some of the tension starts to ease out of his spine and he even presses back into her a little.

“That’s my boy.”

&&&

She’s not sure when, exactly, he became _her_ Boy Wonder.  When she had to push down that little spark of pride when he does what he always does and comes up with something brilliant at just the right moment… or mask that spike of fear when she knows he’s out in the field and exactly what kind of monster he’s chasing.  He’s gotten better with the gun, she’s heard, but he’s still not quite comfortable with it – it hangs off his belt like an afterthought, and it’s hard to imagine him holding it, let alone pointing it at someone.

Sometimes JJ pokes her head in to let Garcia know they’re headed off in the jet; most of the time, though, she doesn’t.  If Garcia suddenly wanted to start waving goodbye every time they left, it would seem odd even for her.  So she waits for the calls, banters with Derek even as she listens for Reid’s voice in the background, allowing herself a silent _just be sure to come back to me_ before she hangs up.

And since everybody knows everything about each other, it’s crazy that they’ve managed to keep it quiet at all.  Sometimes, when she’s lured out of her techno-den and they’re all in the conference room together, she gets the feeling that maybe JJ knows.  Maybe she looks too long at Reid, or not long enough, and then she’ll catch JJ eyeing her in a way that makes her stomach flip.  Not that it would be the end of the world if she found out (and Garcia’s sure that JJ wouldn’t rat her out to Hotch), but there’s something definitely… titillating about keeping it a secret.  Keeping _him_ a secret.  Something about watching Reid tap his glasses against his lips in thought while no one else in the room knows that Garcia’s watching and thinking _mine_.

They don’t go out, Garcia and Reid.  It’s not just sex, she doesn’t think, but it’s not exactly dating, either.  Garcia doesn’t spend too much time trying to define what it is.  The fact that they don’t talk about it surprises her, because Reid in general is all about analyzing and classifying and systematizing and also talking.  Lots of talking.  Best she can figure, Reid still sees it as some kind of aberrancy, a strange series of events outside of reality that only exist within the confines of Garcia’s apartment.  And she’s never been one to push definitions, particularly on to other people, so she just lets it be what it is.  She lets Reid come to her, and she tries to savor every moment of it.

&&&

Then Nathan Harris happens.

Just this once, she’d tried to push Reid a little out of his comfort zone, take him for a spin in her beloved Esther and take him _out_.  Out on the town, yes; out of his head for a few hours – god, she hopes so.  Once the words come out of her mouth, she’s surprised at how much she suddenly wants the ordinariness of it, of taking her man out and buying him a drink and playing footsie with him under the table.  She’s willing to bet footsie is completely unknown to Reid, and she’s just beginning to formulate a devious plan when his cell phone rings, and it’s about Nathan.

The red lights she runs, they should be because the two of them have a chance to save a boy’s life, but they’re really for Reid, sitting silent and motionless in the passenger seat, gripping his phone until his knuckles turn white.

Garcia has seen blood.  She’s seen lots of blood: pools of it, spatters, drips, sprays, you name it.  In photographs.  Turns out it’s a whole different beast when it’s pouring hot and fast onto your hands.  _It’s so red_ , Garcia thinks stupidly, tightening her scarf around one of Nathan’s wrists until the flow of it finally starts to slow.  In the pictures, it doesn’t smell like metal and make the air turn chokingly thick and she’s positive it’s not this _red_.

But Reid is there, gripping her hands around Nathan’s wrists so tightly she fears a bit for her own fingers, and even though Reid is more panicked than she’s ever heard him, he’s _there_ , and she’ll stay as long as he needs her.   She says Nathan’s name, her voice cracked and hoarse at first, but then louder, trying to keep him conscious, because he has to live.  Reid has to save him and he has to _live_ , that’s all there is to it.

When the paramedics get there, they have to pry Reid away from Nathan’s limp – but still breathing – body.  It’s only then that Garcia can finally run to the squalid bathroom and slam the door shut to retch into the toilet.  It’s stupid, maybe, but she doesn’t want Reid to see her like this, the sight of her own hands stained _red red red_ making her heave again and again until tears are running down her face.

It’s Morgan who finds her, who picks her up off the bathroom floor and takes her to the sink to wash her hands.  He doesn’t say a word, just carefully cleans her up, even a smear that’s somehow gotten on her neck.  Her shirt is ruined, but he hugs her anyway, rubs between her shoulders the way her oldest brother used to do when she fell off her bike.  And she fell off her bike a lot.

“Take a hot shower when you get home, baby girl,” he says after a long time.  “And use a nailbrush on your hands.   It all washes away, I promise.”

She pulls away and nods tearfully, bringing herself back under control.  There’s only the police left in the hotel room, and Garcia manages to avoid looking at the bloody bedspread on the way back out.

Morgan offers to take her home, but she sees Reid, still wiping the blood off his hands and talking with Gideon, and declines.  It takes some effort to persuade Derek that, no, she’s fine, really, just a little shaken, but finally he relents, gives her a kiss on the forehead, and leaves.

She sees Gideon say something to Reid – something profound, no doubt, with great finality to it – and pat him on the shoulder before walking away, and that’s her cue.  She comes to him.  “Let me drive you home,” she says softly, and he nods, not quite looking her in the eyes.  They get in the car together, and Garcia really couldn’t give less of a fuck who sees, not now.

They’re silent save for Reid giving her directions – all this time and she’s never actually been to his place, doesn’t really even know what part of town it’s in, and it slowly comes to her that this, their… _thing_ , is about to hit a crossroads.  They’re not going to hash it out, but whatever happens when they get to Reid’s apartment is going to determine where they’re headed, if anywhere.

The building isn’t a dump, exactly, but it’s definitely skirting the definition thereof.  Reid is on the second floor, and when she offers to escort him up, he says, without even looking at her, “It’s okay.  You don’t have to.”

So that’s it, then.  Maybe they’re not done sleeping together, but they’re not going any farther than that.  Once Reid learns all he wants to, or gets bored with her, or gets swept up by someone else, things will taper off.  They won’t discuss it, but they’ll slowly go back to being friends of convenience.  As hard as she’s tried not to define it, make it more than it is, she’s still surprised at how much the thought hurts.  Reid never again knocking on her door, his hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets when she grabs him and pulls him inside.  Reid never struggling to get his pants off, forgetting he’s still got his shoes on.  Reid never trying to hide his bashful smile against one of her pillowcases.

But she’ll be damned if she’s not going to enjoy whatever she’s got left, so she insists on walking him to his door, looping her arm through his and clutching him tight, tighter than the night this whole thing started and she was drunk, needing his solid presence to keep her upright.

They get to his door and she can only see a glimpse of the inside when he opens it, and it’s exactly what she thought it would be – a tiny studio, essentially a closet full of books with a bed stuck in there somewhere.  It makes her smile.

He turns to look her in the eye for the first time since getting that phone call and she’s careful to keep the smile in place, gentle and compassionate.  She tries to force herself to tell him _good night_ , but the words won’t even form on her tongue.  So she waits to hear them from him.

Instead, he shocks her by taking both of her hands in his own.  “Garcia.  Penelope.  Is it weird if I call you Penelope?  I know we never really…  I mean, we should definitely be on a first name basis by now, but I still think of you—”

“Spencer,” she says quietly, her heart in her throat.

“Will you, um.  Stay with me?  Tonight.  I know my apartment is, um, tiny, and I don’t really have people over, but the thing is, I can’t…”  He shakes his head.  “Maybe this is asking too much, but I sort of need you…”  He takes a deep breath.  “To stay.”

He’s seen her laugh hundreds, maybe thousands of times in the months they’ve been together, but she’s pretty sure he’s never seen her cry.  Which is why it’s so embarrassing that tears are already leaking down her cheeks as she nods so hard she’s afraid her glasses are going to fly off.  “Yes,” she finally manages.  “Of course I will.  Tonight.  Whenever.”

“Thank you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he pulls her gently into his apartment, shutting the door behind him.


End file.
